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Class ^TS ^ S -^ 7 
Book ^, ill ■£§_-„ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



BIGGS'S BAR 



By the same author 

JACINTA: AN IDYLL 

Price, 75 cents 



B I G G S'S BAR 



And Other Klondyke Ballads 



BY 



HOWARD V. SUTHERLAND 




DREXEL BIDDLE, PUBLISHER 

PHILADELPHIA LONDON 

SAN FRANCISCO TORONTQ 

igoi 



THE LIBRAftV OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two Copiu Rkocivco 

SEP. t2 1901 

ACOPVRtOHT MTHV 

CLASS €L XXo. N9 
COPY B. 



T5 3S21 



1*^ 



oi 



Copyright, 1901 
By ANTHONY J. DREXEL BIDDI^K 



TO 

JOHN M. VER MEHR 

IN MEMORY OF 
BEANS AND BACON DAYS 



CONTENTS 



PAGE 

BiGGs's Bar 9 

The Che-cha-ko 16 

Our Stove 18 

The Sorrows of Hairy Dick 22 

Omar in the Klondyke 26 

A Klondyke Love Song 29 

The Dawson City Band 31 

The Klondyke Mosquito 38 

A Miner's Chief Thought 41 

Pimply Pete 42 

The Last Sack of Flour 45 

How Willie Learned to Swear .... 46 

The Yukon Pioneer 51 

vii 



Contents 

PAGE 

That First Flapjack 54 

Sour Grapes 60 

Appreciation in Dawson 62 

In Winter 67 

Cooking in the Klondyke 69 

Bill McGee .71 



VIU 



BIGGS'S BAR 

^'T^WAS a sultry afternoon, about the middle of 

^ July, 
And the men who loafed in Dawson were feeling 

very dry. 
Of liquor there had long been none except a barrel 

or two, 
And that was kept by Major Walsh for himself and a 

lucky few. 

Now, the men who loaf in Dawson are loafers to the 

bone. 
And take it easy in a way peculiarly their own ; 
They sit upon the sidewalks and smoke and spit and 

chew. 
And watch the other loafers, and wonder who is 

who. 

9 



Klondyke Ballads 

They only work in winter, when the days are short 

and cold, 
And then they heat their cabins, and talk and talk of 

gold; 
They talk about provisions, and sometimes take a 

walk, 
But then they hurry back again and talk, and talk, 

and talk. 

And the men who loaf in Dawson are superior to 

style, 
For the man who wears a coat and vest is apt to cause 

a smile ; 
While he who sports suspenders or a belt would be a 

butt. 
And cause ironic comment, and end by being cut. 

The afternoon was sultry, as I said some time before ; 
'Twas fully ninety in the shade (in the sun a darn 

sight more), 
And the men who sat on the sidewalks were, one and 

all, so dry 
That only one perspired, though every one did try. 
lo 



Klondyke Ballads 

Six men were sitting in a line and praying God for air ; 
They were Joaquin Miller and ' ' Lumber ' ' Lynch 

and '' Stogey " Jack Ver Mehr, 
"■ Swift-water " Bill and '' Caribou " Bill and a sick 

man from the hills, 
Who came to town to swap his dust for a box of liver 

pills. 

I said they prayed for air, and yet perhaps I tell a lie, 
For none of them are holy men, and all of them 

were dry ; 
And so I guess 'tis best for me to say just what I 

think — 
They prayed the Lord to pity them and send them 

all a drink. 

Then up spoke Joaquin Miller, as he shook his golden 

locks. 
And picked the Dawson splinters from his moccasins 

and socks 
(The others paid attention, for when times are out 

of joint 
What Joaquin Miller utters is always to the point) : 
II 



Klondyke Ballads 

*'A foot-sore, weary traveller," the Poet then 

began, 
'* Did tell me many moons ago, — and oh ! I loved 

the man, — 
That Biggs who owns the claim next mine had 

started up a bar. 
Let's wander there and quench our thirst." All 

answered, ' ' Right you are. ' ' 

Now, Biggs is on Bonanza Creek, claim ninety-six, 

below ; 
There may be millions in it, and there may not ; 

none will know 
Until he gets to bedrock or till bedrock comes to 

him — 
For Arthur takes it easy and is strictly in the 

swim. 

It is true, behind his cabin he has sunk a mighty 

shaft 
(When the husky miners saw it they turned aside 

and laughed) ; 

12 



Klondyke Ballads 

But Biggs enjoys his bacon, and smokes his pipe and 

sings, 
Content to be enrolled among the great Bonanza 

Kings. 

'Tis full three miles from Dawson town to Biggs' s 

little claim ; 
The miners' curses on the trail would make you blush 

with shame 
The while they slip, or stub their toes against the 

roots, or sink 
Twelve inches in the mud and slime before their eyes 

can wink. 

But little cared our gallant six for roots, or slime, or 

mud, 
For they were out for liquor as a soldier ie for 

blood ; 
They hustled through the forest, nor stopped until 

they saw 
Biggs, wrapt in contemplation, beside his cabin 

door. 

13 



Klondyke Ballads 

He rose to greet his visitors, and ask them for the 

news, 
And said he was so lonesome that he always had the 

blues ; 
He hadn't seen a paper for eighteen months, he 

said, 
And that had been in Japanese — a language worse 

than dead. 

They satisfied his thirst for news, then thought they 
of their own. 

And Miller looked him in the eye and gave a little 
groan, 

And all six men across their mouths did pass a sun- 
burnt hand 

In a manner most deliberate, which all can under- 
stand. 

*< We heard you kept a bar, good Biggs," the gentle 

Poet said, 
<* And so we thought we'd hold you up, and v/c arc 

almost dead ! ' ' 

14 



Klondyke Ballads 

He said no more. Biggs understood, and thusly 

spoke to them 
In accents somewhat British and prefixed with a 

'^Hem!" 

''The bar you'll find a few yards hence as up that 

trail you go ; 
I never keep my liquor in the blooming 'ouse, you 

know. 
Just mush along and take a drink, and when you are 

content 
Come back and tell me, if you can, who now is 

President." 

They mushed along, those weary men, nor looked to 

left or right. 
But thought of how each cooling drink would trickle 

out of sight j 
And very soon they found the goal they came for 

from afar — 
A keg, half full of water ^ in a good old gravel bar ! 



15 



Klondyke Ballads 



A 



THE CHE-CHA-KO* 

POOR che-chd-ko once arrived 
At Dawson by the Yukon side. 
His eyes were big, his boat was small, 
Of outfit he had none at all — 

Had bought one in the Golden West, 
But lost it on the Chilcoot's crest ; 
And lived so long on beans and pork 
That he had hardly strength to walk. 

He made his vessel good and fast 
And trod the muddy banks at last ; 
Then wandered through the dirty town 
And sought a place to settle down. 



* Che-chako — L e., new-comer — an Indian word. In the Klon- 
dyke a man was considered a che-cha-ko until he had seen the ice 
leave the Yukon. 

i6 



Klo7idyke Ballads 

He wandered here, he wandered there, 
And heard the husky miners swear. 
And curse their luck and curse the ground 
Wherein no gold dust they had found. 

* ' I settles this yere matter now, ' ' 
Said he, and wiped his manly brow. 
' ' I aint the man to hang about 
A played-out camp. I just gets out." 

And then he borrowed pick and spade, 
And very soon a hole had made 
Behind McCarthy's dancing hall. 
But found no nuggets, large or small. 

< ' Gol darn the luck, ' ' he sadly said, 
And scratched the foliage on his head ; 
*' I guess I'll make a di-rect line 
Back home and let these suckers mine. ' ' 

And so he pawned his extra jeans. 
And filled his boat with pork and beans ; 
And ere the sun was sinking, he 
Was drifting onward to the sea. 
17 



\ 



Klondyke Ballads 



w 



OUR STOVE 

HEN we bought our stove in Dawson 
We were jubilant, and thought 
That we owned the finest baker 

Two men had ever bought. 
Said my partner, ^' She's a beauty." 

'* She's a hummer, Jack," said I, 
*^ And she'll burn all sorts of lumber, 

Whether wet wood, damp, or dry." 

Thirty dollars, sir, she cost us 

('Tis enough to make one weep !) 

Yet we pitied the poor devil 

Who would sell a stove so cheap. 

And we packed it to our cabin 
On a scorching summer's day ; 

Sixty pounds it weighed, plus stove-pipe- 
Yet we sniggered all the way. 
i8 



Klondyke Ballads 

So that evening we lit her, 

And we watched our beauty burn 
Till the heat within the cabin 

Gave my partner there a turn — 
Made him deathly sick at stomach — 

And I scorched my only shirt 
While I watched our beans and bacon 

Lest our victuals should be hurt. 

You bet she was a hummer ! 

But she hummed too much for us 
On those blazing days of summer, 

And we'd stand outside and cuss. 
And we'd take our grub and eat it 

On our porch, where likewise came 
Gay mosquitoes singing anthems ; 

But the stove, sir, made us game. 

'< When the winter comes, old chappie. 
Our stove," said Jack, '* we'll bless. 

Think of fifty below zero ! ' ' 

And I sadly murmured : '* M'yes." 
19 



Klondyke Ballads 

So we cooked our meals, and sweated 
While we ate them, for we knew 

In a month or so the weather 
Would be cold enough for two. 

When the winter came our hummer 

Looked a bit the worse for wear ; 
Her top was sagging inward 

Which we couldn't well repair. 
The damper, too, was cranky. 

And the oven seemed to hold 
Some secret understanding 

With our enemy, the cold. 

We could fill that stove with dry wood, 

We could cram it up with green. 
But the shavings wouldn't catch, sir; 

Such a stove we'd never seen. 
And our bacon wouldn't sizzle. 

And our coffee almost froze ; 
And we shivered up our backbones 

And we shivered in our toes. 
20 



Klondyke Ballads 

Our cabin was an ice chest, 

And we nearly froze to death 
While we blew upon the fire 

With a semi-frozen breath, 
And we crawled within our blankets, 

Sick at heart and fain to curse. 
Talk of suffering ! No torture 

Man devised was ever worse. 

Now 'tis springtime, and we've purchased 

Another and we trust 
It will act a little better, 

For, to tell the truth, we're bust. 
And if this won't cook our victuals — 

Beans and bacon, little more — 
We shall auction off our matches 

And eat our menu raw. 



21 



Klondyke Ballads 



w 



THE SORROWS OF HAIRY DICK 

HEN Hairy Dick had staked his claim 
(Some fifty miles from Dawson) 

He limped to town — for he was lame- 
To get the same recorded. 

It took him just one year to hit 

A spot with any gold in it, 
But now he had it, sure. 

So Hairy Dick did stand in line 
Outside the Recorder's Office 

And thought of flowers, fruits, and wine, 
And other earthly follies. 

'Twas forty-two degrees below 

The while he stood upon the snow, 
And the merry wind blew strong. 

23 



Klondyke Ballads 

The fiftieth man was Hairy Dick 

Outside the Senkler portal ; 
And some of them were feeling sick 

At heart, and some at stomach. 
But still they stood as grim as Death, 
And just as pale, and fought for breath 

That froze upon their beards. 

Now, Hairy Dick had lily feet 
Encased in sacks of gunny ; 

The snow, of course, gave forth no heat 
And they were nearly frozen. 

His ruby lips were turning blue ; 

His nose and ears were smarting, too ; 
And then he moved up one ! 

Then Hairy Dick began to jump 

In elephantine antics. 
And said he'd give his summer's dump 

To get his claim recorded. 
But there were no officials near 
Or he had lost the same, I fear. 

Then where would he have been ? 
23 



Klondyke Ballads 

So Hairy Dick just did his best 

To foster circulation ; 
He never gave his feet a rest 

For seven weary hours. 
By slow degrees he reached the door 
Where hope is lost for evermore — 

And then they closed the office ! 

I cannot write what Hairy said 

About the poor officials ; 
His face, erst white, grew very red. 

His very blood was boiling. 
His language was not choice, but strong ; 
And all that night he sang his song 

As he had danced all day. 

Next morning he awoke at three 
And ate some beans and bacon, 

Then hurried back ; the fifteenth he 
To wait for Mr. Senkler. 

'Twas half -past twelve before he passed 

Benumbed with cold the door at last, 
And fainted near the stove. 
24 



Klondyke Ballads 

*' 'E's got a fit ; let's chuck 'im out," 
Thus cried the men around him ; 

But Hairy gave a mighty shout 
And consciousness recovered. 

'^I'm in, and I am in to stay," 

He shrieked, and wiped the sweat away 
From off his grimy forehead. 

By three o'clock had come his turn 
To plead before the window 

Where husky miners sometimes learn 
That there are always others. 

And Hairy Dick was told his claim 

Had long ago been staked ; the same 
Had also been recorded. 

He spake no word, but straightway fell 
And from the room was carried ; 

And even now the miners tell 
Of Hairy Dick's departure. 

And one and all maintain him smart 

To own a somewhat damaged heart 
And work it out so quick. 



Klondyke Ballads 



OMAR IN THE KLONDYKE 

'^ I ^HIS Omar seems a decent chap," said Flap- 

J- jack Dick one night, 
When he had read my copy through and then blown 

out the hght. 
**I ain't much stuck on poetry, because I runs to 

news. 
But I appreciates a man that loves his glass of booze. 



** And Omar here likes good red wine, although he's 

pretty mum 
On liquors, which is better yet, like whiskey, gin, or 

rum ; 
Perhaps his missus won't allow him things like that 

to touch. 
And he doesn't like to own it. Well, I don't blame 

Omar much. 

26 



Klondyke Ballads 

"Then I likes a man what's partial to the ladies, 

young or old, 
And Omar seems to seek 'em much as me and you 

seek gold ; 
I only hope for his sake that his wife don't learn his 

game 
Or she'll put a chain on Omar, and that would be a 

shame. 

*'His language is some florid, but I guess it is the 
style 

Of them writer chaps that studies and burns the mid- 
night ile ; 

He tells us he's no chicken ; so I guess he knows 
what's best. 

And can hold his own with Shakespeare, Waukeen 
Miller, and the rest. 

<*But I hope he ain't a thinkin' of a trip to this 

yere camp. 
For our dancin' girls is ancient, and our liquor's 

somewhat damp 

27 



Klondyke Ballads 

By doctorin' with water, and we ain't got wine at 

all, 
Though I had a drop of porter — but that was back 

last fall. 

** And he mightn't like our manners, and he mightn't 

like the smell 
Which is half the charm of Dawson ; and he mightn't 

live to tell 
Of the acres of wild roses that grows on every 

street ; 
And he mightn't like the winter, or he mightn't like 

the heat. 

*' So I guess it's best for Omar for to stay right where 

he is. 
And gallivant with Tottie, or with Flossie, or with 

Liz ; 
And fill himself with claret, and, although it ain't 

like beer, 
I wish he'd send a bottle — just one bottle — to us 

here." 

28 



Klondyke Ballads 



A KLONDYKE LOVE SONG 

\ X 7ILL you love me as you loved me when the 
• ^ snow was on the ground 
And Dawson was as chilly as a tomb ? 
Will you love me as you loved me when we heard 
the dismal sound 
Of a hungry Si wash howling in the gloom ? 
Will you love me as you loved me when the birds 
had flown away 
From the forests of the Klondyke, vast and still ? 
Will you love me as you loved me when we watched 
the North-lights play 
In the heavens when the nights were long and chill ? 

Will you love me as you loved me when each hour 
was a trial 
And the soul grew sick of sorrow, sick of pain ? 
Will you love me as you loved me when we hungered 
for a smile 
From a sun we never hoped to see again ? 
29 



Klondyke Ballads 

Will you love me as you loved me when it seemed 

we lived apart 
From the others, though imprisoned, and were true ? 
Will you love me as you loved me when you told me 

that your heart 
Was yearning for a love it never knew ? 

Will you love me as you loved me when we sat beside 
the stove, 
And the wind was almost bursting in the door 
Of the cabin where I met you and I told you of my 
love. 
And you promised to be mine for evermore ? 
Will you love me as you loved me when your eyes 
were wet with tears 
And I bade you, love, be patient with your lot ? 
Will you love me as you loved me when we meet in 
later years 
And the trials of the Klondyke are forgot ? 



30 



Klondyke Ballads 

THE DAWSON CITY BAND 
PROMISED joy forever was the Dawson City 



A 

^^^ Band 



The band we all remember in the spring of '98; 
Its leader was a Hebrew, long of hair and deft of 
hand, 
Good at cooking as at music, though he found it 
out too late. 
He had learned to play the fife, 
And had risen so in life 
That he came to be the leader of the city band in 
Dawson. 

In the band there was a fiddler, very tall and very thin, 
Dressed in mackinaws and top-boots, down at heel 
and out at toe. 
In appearance he was sober, and one felt he could 
not sin 
Except when making music on his instrument of 
woe. 

31 



Klondyke Ballads 

He was nurturing a cough, 
And, though his friends would scoff. 
He would tell them very sadly that he'd leave his 
bones in Dawson. 

His brother blew the cornet. He was broad and 
deep of lung — 
Sported overalls and gumboots and a jack-knife at 
his side. 
Had he ever played in 'Frisco he would surely have 
been hung, 
For his ears weren't built for music; and though 
he always tried 
To play his level best, 
He could handicap the rest, 
And win by several seconds over all the band in Dawson. 

Then a sickly individual crossed the Chilcoot with a 

flute 

And a pair of German stockings and a pound or 

so of beans ; 

And when the bag was empty then he hired out to toot 

In the hopes of charming nuggets to the pockets 

of his jeans. 

32 



Klondyke Ballads 

An unfortunate mishap 
Had robbed him of his cap, 
And he had to march bareheaded when the band 
paraded Dawson. 

The trombone man was husky, and his cheeks were 
fat and red, 
And his stomach was tremendous, but he lost it in 
the fall ; 
And the way he played that trombone was enough to 
rouse the dead, 
But he liked to earn his wages — so he didn't mind 
at all. 
His legs were very short. 
And his clothing had been bought 
Of the man who was the leader of the city band in 
Dawson. 

The last of the musicians was the man who beat the 

drum, 

A surly individual with the temper of a goat ; 

He once had been a blacksmith, and now he made 

things hum, 
3 33 



Klo7idyke Ballads 

Although (he said so proudly) he could never play 
by note. 
Although he knew no fear, 
He was always in the rear 
Of the gallant band that marched along the dirty 
streets of Dawson. 

The leader had an organ, of the kind we love not 
much, 
And sometimes ground a solo and sometimes a 
tercet 
With the flutist and the drummer; he sometimes 
sang in Dutch, 
Being audible distinctly in spite of a sestet. 
Then he passed around the plate, 
And the miners thought it great. 
And showered little nuggets on the first real band in 
Dawson. 

Every morn the band was gathered near the Pioneer 
Saloon 
And played for two good hours, while the mining 
magnates sat 

34 



Klondyke Ballads 

On the edges of the sidewalk and encored every 
''toon," 
And once raised fifty dollars for the man who had 
no hat. 
Then the band went home to eat 
And to rest its tired feet, 
For it's work to stand for hours on the dusty streets 
of Dawson. 



After dark the band was cornered in the Oatley 
Sisters' Hall, 
Where the fortune-favored miner likes to lower 
down his drink ; 
Where the torn and lorn che-chd-ko is invited to the 
ball 
By the pleasure-loving lady who is never known 
to think. 
There it played till one or two, 
And the miners were so few 
That they paid no more attention to the sleepy band 
of Dawson. 

35 



Klondyke Ballads 

The band took part at weddings ; it made music at 
a birth 
When the baby took to sleeping and gave it half a 
chance. 
It was big on each occasion when beneath the frozen 
earth 
The miners left their partners arrayed in flannel 
pants ; 
And men would wink and say, 
Making music seemed to pay, 
And they tried to get positions in the little band of 
Dawson. 

But the fiddler caught a fever and expired in dire pain, 
Helped to heaven by a doctor from a small New 
England town. 
Who gave him something nasty and said he' d call again, 
Although he had no need to when his medicine 
was down ; 
For his drugs had all got mixed, 
And the fiddler had been fixed, 
And they couldn't find another one in all the town 
of Dawson. 



Klondyke Ballads 

Then the trombone man got tipsy and was set to 
sawing wood, 
And the drummer and the leader had a fight and 
would not speak ; 
And the man who played the cornet thought the time 
was ripe and good 
To skip with all the profits — so he homeward made 
a sneak ; 
And the flutist took a lay 
On a bench claim far away, 
And 'twas winter 'ere we saw him begging grub again 
in Dawson. 

So the band became disbanded, and now of all the six 
But one is making money — Ikey Sutro in his store ; 
Where he doles out dust to people on their watches 
or their picks. 
And as he ground the organ grinds the miners, 
only more. 
But the band itself is gone, 
And the loafers, all forlorn. 
Whisper sadly of the hours when it cheered them up 
in Dawson. 

37 



Klondyke Ballads 

THE KLONDYKE MOSQUITO 
HERE ain't no insect fleeter than the musical 



T 

^ mosquiter 



That summers in the Klondyke when the snow is 

off the ground ; 
It can fly a mile a minute, and a fallin* brick ain't 

in it 
When it strikes your little bald spot with a sort of 

rushin' sound, 
Witharoarin', snortin', whizzin', a most onearthly 

sound. 

With an instinct that is hellish it will light upon and 

relish 

A pay -streak, sir, wherever your anatomy is bare ; 

And if you try to harm it, you only can alarm it, 

For when you think to smash it the insect isn't 

there ; 

And you swear for many minutes, but the insect 

isn't there. 

38 



Klondyke Ballads 

You can measure it by inches, and the boldest fellow 

winces 
When he hears it hummin' Wagner in a key that's 

pitched too high ; 
And you wish your skin was harder, for you hate to 

be a larder, 
And you know that when it's hungry it will come 

to you for pie — 
For the blood of us poor miners to mosquiters is 

but pie. 



You will never find it yawnin' though it drills from 
night to mornin'. 
And seeks to aid digestion by singin' through its 
nose ; 
And its drill is even sharper than the wits of Captain 
Harper 
Or the wind that every winter through your lonely 

cabin blows — 
How the miners curse the winter when the wind 
of heaven blows ! 

39 



Klondyke Ballads 

The mosquiter bites you sleepin' ; it will bite you 
when you're creepin', 
With a pack upon your shoulders, on a long and 
sloppy trail ; 
It will bite you when you're workin' ; it will bite 
you when you're shirkin' \ 
It will bite you if you're husky; it will bite you 

if you're frail. 
All's one to the mosquiter, who is never, never 
frail. 



It is pitiless, pernicious, energetically vicious, 

But the angels seem to love it, for I've never killed 
one yet ; 
And although I ain't no hero I long again for zero, 
For the blamed mosquiter gets it in the neck them 

days, you bet ! 
In the neck the critter gets it, and serves him 
right, you bet ! 



40 



o 



Klondyke Ballads 



A MINER'S CHIEF THOUGHT 

F what does a miner think 

When his day's hard work is done? 
Does he dream of his girl at home ? 

Does he think of the vagrant sun ? 

Does he think of his mortgaged farm, 
Or the debts that he left unpaid 

In the land he forsook for one 
Where seldom a cent is made ? 

Not much. As he smokes his pipe 

He gives his head a rub, 
And schemes how to raise the wind 

Enough for his next month's grub. 



41 



Klondyke Ballads 



PIMPLY PETE 

PIMPLY PETE was a sickly cuss, 
He never was well, and he sometimes was wuss 
And one day he sighed and he said to us, 
*'I'm goin' to die," says he. 

We tried to jolly poor Pimply some. 
But he wouldn't be jollied ; and we was dumb 
When he said, '^I'm goin' to kingdom come 
For to get a fair lay," says he. 

*^This life is a farce," poor Pimply said, 
'' And our claims are oncertain until we're dead ; 
And only then do we find a bed 
That suits our bones," says he. 

*'I'm sick of sufferin' day and night 
From cold that freezes and winds that bite ; 
For nearly a year I ain't felt right, 
And now I'll quit," says he. 
42 



Klondyke Ballads 

**When I was younger I heard it told 
That the streets of heaven is paved with gold, 
And I'm going up there, before I'm old. 
To strike for a lay," says he. 



** This Klondyke here is a low down bluff, 
And the way we's treated is pretty rough ; 
But heaven, I guess, is sure enough. 
And I'll give it a try," says he. 



^' I've led a pretty oncertain life — 
But then I had an oncertain wife ; 
And that's as bad as a butcher-knife 
Between the ribs," says he. 



"■ But now she's dead, and I guess she's found 
Some handsome angel to take her round 
And show her the sights ; so I'll sleep sound — 
Thank God for that," says he. 

43 



Klondyke Ballads 

Then Pimply kept infernally still 
And we saw as how he was pretty ill, 
But we says, *' You'll live if you has the will. 
'' I ain't the will," says he. 



And then he shivered from heel to nose 
And looked at us till we almost froze ; 
And then he turned up his eyes and toes 
And never a word said he. 



A doctor came and examined his juice, 
And said that flapjacks had settled his goose. 
We planted him there, behind that spruce, 
And wrote on a stake, wrote we : 



*' Here lies the ruins of Pimply Pete, 
Who suffered from flapjacks and chilly feet ; 
We hopes he's gone where he gets some heat, 
For he was a brick, was he." 

44 



Klondyke Ballads 



THE LAST SACK OF FLOUR 



'T 



IS the last sack of flour 

Left standing alone ; 
Its expensive companions 

Are eaten and gone. 
Their shrouds in the corner 

Awaken vain sighs, 
As I ponder o'er biscuits, 

O'er doughnuts and pies. 

'Tis the last sack of flour — 

A small one at that ; 
And I fear I shall die like 

A famishing rat. 
For 'twill cost fifty dollars 

In black sand and dust 
To purchase a new one — 

And oh, I am bust ! 

45 



Klondyke Ballads 



HOW WILLIE LEARNED TO SWEAR 



HEN Willie left the homestead where his 



w 

'' * parents did abide 



And braved the dreaded Chilcoot and the terrors of 

''inside," 
A slender lad he was, sir, a youth most primitive. 
With neither bones nor character and just too good 

to live. 



His parents hugged him fondly when the engine 

gave a shriek. 
Thus suggesting very kindly that they'd better make 

a sneak ; 
And Willie's voice grew husky when he bade them 

au revoir 
And departed for Seattle in a tourist sleeping car. 
46 



Klondyke Ballads 

At the stations many maidens came to see the eager 

crew 
Who were leaving for the Klondyke in apparel 

strange and new ; 
And one and all saw Willie, blue-eyed Will, with 

cheeks aflame. 
And one and all sighed fondly and murmured, 

''What a shame !" 

A minister who saw him placed a hand upon his 

head, 
Saying mildly as he did so, ' ' When you lie upon 

your bed 
In the Klondyke, may the angels keep you safe and 

free from harm. 
And be sure, in buying blankets, that the same are 

good and warm. ' ' 

Little Willie reached Seattle and commenced to spend 

his cash 
On bacon, beans and flour, and evaporated trash ; 

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Klondyke Ballads 

On woollen goods and overalls, on hardware, drugs, 

and furs, 
Mosquito netting, rubber boots, and five enormous 

curs. 



These canines caused him trouble till he chained 

them 'neath the hatch. 
And left them there to meditate, and, very soon, to 

scratch ; 
And then he bribed a steward to feed them twice a 

day. 
Then hied him to his stuffy berth and moaned the 

time away. 

He had a fellow -sufferer, and very soon there sprang 
The comradeship between them of men who are to 

hang ; 
And when they got to Skaguay they were partners, 

and each swore 
None ever knew true partnership, such partnership, 

before. 

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Klondyke Ballads 

Of the trip across the summit, of the hardships of 

the trail, 
I say nothing, but that Willie very often would turn 

pale 
When he heard his partner swearing like a demon in 

the sleet — 
Heard him curse the trembling canines — saw him 

argue with his feet. 

Little Willie kept his temper, but that was all he 

kept; 
For his partner stole his outfit on Lake Bennett as 

he slept, 
And Willie had to purchase, at a most unheard of 

price. 
Beans and bacon to subsist on till he reached his 

Paradise. 

Still the dogs had not been stolen, but they missed 

a master's hand, 

And would soldier in the traces in a way dogs 

understand ; 

4 49 



Klondyke Ballads 

They would rend their leather harness or would ride 

upon the sled, 
And Willie, ever patient, often wished them frozen 

dead. 

At last his heart grew bitter as he pondered night 

and day 
How his trusted partner fooled him, and at last it 

made him say 
When the dogs were extra lazy, ^'It's ashamed of 

you I am, 
You naughty little doggies. ' ' Then he blushed and 

muttered, ^ ' Damn ! " 

But that *'damn " meant Willie's downfall; for the 

dogs would cock an ear 
When they heard the word familiar, which filled 

their souls with fear ; 
For from ** damn " it grew to , and from 

even worse. 

And before young Willie knew it, he had mastered 

how to curse. 

50 



Klo7idyke Ballads 



THE YUKON PIONEER 

A MIGHTY man (if the truth be known) is the 
Yukon Pioneer — 
The man who trudged o'er the ice and snow in 
ninety-six or seven ; 
But terribly small (let the truth be said) are the 
chances he takes to clear 
The fence that partitions the sheep from the goats 
in the outer fields of heaven. 
If I were a Pioneer I'd pray 
For the good of my soul by night and day^— 
I would ! 

'Tis not that the Yukon Pioneer is wicked or prone 
to crime ; 
He is better by far than is many a man with a 
chance to go the gait ; 
But the lies that slip from his frozen lips are worse 
than the lies that Time 
51 



Klondyke Ballads 

Has listened to all these centuries, while grinding 
his teeth with hate. 
Why, the sun in disgust forsakes the sky 
When the Pioneers start in to lie — 
It does ! 

The story is told of a Pioneer who never could tell 
a lie; 
But 'tis said, in extenuation, by those who knew 
him best 
That had he a tongue to talk with (he had cancer, 
by-the-by) 
He had certainly been awarded a medal by all the 
rest. 
For 'tis held 'mong all good Pioneers 
That truth is a subject fit for tears — 
Just think ! 

They sit in the gloom of the wintry months and lie 
about God and man ; 
They lie about grub, and they lie about dogs; 
they lie about heat and cold ; 
52 



Klondyke Ballads 

They lie about mortgaged homes and farms; they 
lie as they only can ; 
They lie about strikes and fool stampedes and 
claims that contain no gold. 
They sooner would lay them down in death 
Than pollute the air with a truthful breath — 
That's what. 



Oh, great and grand were the Pioneers who con- 
quered the Golden West, 
And we wish we had lived in the good old days 
when they were in their youth ; 
But greater by far are the Pioneers who braved the 
Chilcoot's crest, 
And cursed their dogs, and their partners, too, 
and never can tell the truth — 
Who give no thought for the good of their 

souls, 
Though the Devil makes merry and orders 
more coals. 

Ha, ha! 

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Klondyke Ballads 



THAT FIRST FLAPJACK 

WHEN I made my maiden flapjack I was still a 
tender youth, 
Inexperienced and reckless, caring little what we 
ate 
If it only stilled our hunger, which, to tell the very 
truth, 
Like the poor was ever with us, and would never, 
never wait. 



When we landed first in Dawson we purchased our 
bread, 
But the habit was expensive — so I thought I'd 
save our dust 
By making tasty flapjacks, for as Bill, my partner, 
said, 
** If you mix 'em good and plenty we can eat 'em 
till we bust. ' ' 

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Klondyke Ballads 

When I asked him for directions I found that all he 
knew 
Was contained in that one sentence, and that I 
must depend 
Upon my ingenuity to pull me safely through, 

And so construct a flapjack that would keep him 
still my friend. 

So I took five cups of water and a cup of ** Price's 
Best," 
And stirred the mess with water till my strength 
was wellnigh spent ; 
Then I salted it profusely, and put it to the test 
In the largest of our fry-pans, and it looked just 
like cement. 

The stove was hot as Hades, and while the minutes 
passed 
My heart was beating wildly, for I feared the thing 
might burn ; 
And when I tried to shift it I found it anchored fast. 
For, having put no grease in, the flapjack wouldn't 
turn. 

55 



Klondyke Ballads 

But I dug around it gently, though I injured it a lot, 
And then prepared to flap it as I'd seen some 
miners do ; 
Then I grabbed the pan adroitly, but the handle 
was so hot 
That I dropped it on the instant and my smoking 
flapjack, too. 

With a spoon we scooped the remnants from the table 
and the floor, 
And placed them in the fry-pan with a little bit 
of lard, 
And they mixed in perfect friendship, and I let them 
bake some more 
While I waited several minutes, cloth in hand, and 
breathing hard. 

Then I grabbed again the fry-pan, and I tossed that 
flapjack high — 
' ' Too high, ' ' as Bill said, sadly, though the roof 
withstood the shock, 

56 



Klondyke Ballads 

And the falling flapjack hit him fair and squarely in 
the eye, 
While I looked at him astonished, for he stood it 
like a rock. 

Well, I scraped it off his shoulder, and I placed it 
in the pan 
And let it bake some minutes till the underside 
was brown ; 
Then the beans and tea were ready — so the two of 
us began 
To compare our maiden flapjack with the bread 
they sold in town. 

''It's pretty hard," Bill muttered, "and I guess 
we'll need the axe 
To break it into pieces, but that's healthy, I've 
heard tellj 
And the stuff we got in Dawson was more like dough 
or wax. 
And this will keep our teeth sharp, and be some 
fun as well." 

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Klondyke Ballads 

Bill always was good-hearted, and he acted very kind 

About my first day's cooking, and said some pretty 

things 

About my handling flour which I cannot call to mind, 

Except that beans and flapjacks was fodder fit for 

kings. 

Then Bill he took the hammer and he broke in little 
squares 
The flapjack, and we soaked it many minutes in 
our tea ; 
And we ate it, every morsel, for we always ate like bears. 
And Bill said he enjoyed it and it could not better 
be. 

That was many years ago, sir, and since that time 
and now 
I've made a million flapjacks, and the hair from 
off my head 
Has fallen in the fry-pan with the moisture from my 

brow, 
And my patient Klondyke partner is silent — being 
dead. 

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Klondyke Ballads 

But though I go on living till Bill has grown his 
wings, 
The day I made that flapjack I shall never, sir, 
forget j 
I'll remember how he praised it, and called it food 
for kings, 
Then broke it with his hammer, and ate it up, 
you bet ! 



59 



Klondyke Ballads 



A 



SOUR GRAPES 

H, tell us not of lamb and greens, 
Potatoes, pies, and porter ; 

We'd rather dine off pork and beans 
Washed down with nice snow water. 



And tell us not of feather beds 
Wherein a man might stifle ; 

On good, hard bunks we lay our heads 
And deem white sheets a trifle. 



And tell us not of pretty girls 
And charming conversations ; 

We'd sooner talk with Swedes and churls 
About our dogs and rations. 
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Klondyke Ballads 

And tell us not about the sun, 
Nor prate of bees and flowers ; 

This semi -gloominess is fun — 
We work in it for hours. 



We never want to hear the news, 
For we are always aching 

For some old fossil's foolish views 
On bedrock, or on baking. 



We like to starve, we love to freeze, 
We yearn to catch the fever ; 

But when we quit this lovely place 
We quit, you bet, to leave her ! 



6i 



Klondyke Ballads 



APPRECIATION IN DAWSON 

THE show had been a good one and the miners 
were in tears 
And wiped their weeping foreheads on their yellow 
mackinaws ; 
They whistled and they shouted ; they indulged in 
mighty cheers, 
And almost broke the floor in as they stamped 
their wild applause. 

Then they stood in knots together while the leading 
lady came 
To the front, and curtsied slowly till she almost 
touched the ground ; 
And the miners got excited, and they called her by 
her name 
Till the lady danced on tip-toe and you couldn't 
hear a sound. 

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Klondyke Ballads 

And while she pirouetted up and down and to and 

fro, 
And the orchestra of seven scraped and thumped 

and tootle-toohed, 
The miners talked together and considered how to 

show 
Their unqualified approval of a Juliet in the nude. 

They talked for many minutes; then they pushed 
toward the front 
(Having silenced first the music) a miner known 
as Russ — 
Roarin' Russ, of Circle City — who gave a sort of 
grunt 
As he cleared his throat for action, and addressed 
the lady thus : 

"My gal, there's no denyin' that you saveys how 
to act, 
And your Jooliet was perfect as to actin' and to 
shape ; 

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Klondyke Ballads 

And as long as you is hired you can chalk it down 
a fact 
That the Pioneer Theayter will never wear no 
crape. 



'< We ain't so mighty friendly to your little Rome-o, 

For he makes too bloomin' easy with a lady, so 

we think ; 

But you was just a hummer, and durin' all the show 

We never took to yawnin' or to orderin' of 

drink. 



* * We' re sorry that the parson made a bungle of his 
work, 
And the liquor was too heavy for a lady of your 
class ; 
And we're sorry for your cousin who was killed by 
Romy's dirk — 
Yet you couldn't but expect it, for that Romy is 
an ass. 

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Klondyke Ballads 

" Now, what we've been a talkin' of is how to show 
you best 
That we like your style and figure, and we decided, 
fust. 
That as a gal is human, and must eat and be well 
dressed, 
We couldn't do no better than to offer you some 
dust. 



** Then we knew as how in 'Frisco lady actors whom 
one knows 
Gets violets or something with a smell that's good 
and strong, 
But in Dawson there's no flowers, and the bottled 
scents is froze — 
So we thought of something better and we hope 
we ain't done wrong. 

' ' You know, I guess, by this time that vegetables be 
A quite onheard of luxury in this yere mining 
hell; 

5 65 



Klondyke Ballads 

Nor love nor money buys 'em, nor pull, and so, you 
see. 
They're worth much more than roses and healthier 
as well. 

' ' We cannot get you flowers ; but my partner, 
Lousetown Joe, 
Has a crate of fresh potatoes, and we offers you a 
third ; 
And here's the sack of gold dust, and we're mighty 
glad to know 
That you'll never get the scurvy — for, Jooliet, 
you're a bird." 

Then the lady dropped a curtsey and grabbed the 
little sack. 
And said that Mr. Tybalt (better known as Pot- 
luck Pete) 
Would fetch the spuds to-morrow ; then she pirou- 
etted back 
And the miners yelled together until they struck 

the street. 

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Klondyke Ballads 



B 



IN WINTER 

EANS and bacon thrice a day, 

Such is our diet ; 
We could live off better fare 

Had we dust to buy it ; 
But our sacks are void of gold, 

No one gives us credit ; 
We are in a pretty fix, 

But we grin and bear it. 

Fruit is coming to an end, 

Ditto our flour ; 
Once a week we hit our mush — 

Mush, the source of power. 
Neither milk nor sugar now 

Graces our table ; 
Once we had a stock of meats — 

Now we read a label. 
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Klo7tdyke Ballads 

Sunday is our day for spuds, 

Coffee comes on Friday ; 
Thursdays we partake of rice, 

Tuesday was our pie day. 
He who mentions butter now 

Has to wash the dishes ; 
Still we hope to realize 

Some day our wishes. 



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Klondyke Ballads 



COOKING IN THE KLONDYKE 



^^ 'npHERE'S something burning on the stove, 
-■- The first che-chd-ko said ; 
"■ It doesn't smell like bacon, 
So I guess it is the bread." 

' ' The bread be d , ' ' the cook replied 

(A mighty cook was he), 
<< I haven't baked the stuff as yet ; 

'' Perhaps it is the tea !" 



'' The tea caii'i Ihip. 

His partner made reply. 
''I'll bet you've spoilt beyond repair 

My baking powder pie." 

''The pie you brag about," said cook, 
" Was baked this early morn. 

I tried a piece of it and wished 
I never had been born." 
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Klondyke Ballads 

The first che-chd-ko puffed his pipe 

And thought him what to say. 
" God knows," said he, ''that your pies are 

Far heavier than clay. ' ' 



''You eat them all the same," said cook, 
" And half my share as well. 

But something's burning — that is sure ; 
I know it by the smell." 



" I say it is the bacon, sir !" 

"And I say it is not !" 
The cook then ope'd the oven door. 

And swore, for it was hot. 



"Ye gods !" he yelled, "'tis one on you, 

Your gum boots I espy ! ' ' 
The first che-chd-ko held his peace — 

He'd put them there to dry ! 
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Klondyke Ballads 



BILL McGEE 

••A RE you takin' any men on, boss?" asked 
^ Billy J. McGee 

Of the man who ran Red Murphy's claim, Domin- 
ion 33. 

The foreman sized the speaker up, then unto him 
says he : 

" You look a husky, skookum man, so you can work 
for me, 

And you'll find that I am pretty square if me and 
you agree." 

Now, Bill was only five foot high but broader than a 

bear; 
His legs looked thick, his back looked broad, his 

shoulders good and square ; 
He had a D Profundis voice, accounted somewhat 

rare; 

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Klondyke Ballads 

His hands were hid, his arms looked long, as likewise 

did his hair, 
But in his forehead there were lines that spoke of 

constant care. 



So Bill McGee first got his job and then he said : 

' ' I say, 
You've took me on to work for you, but how about 

my pay ? 
I ain't the sort to work blamed hard, and then be 

told some day 
There ain't no money in the dump and I can walk 

away. 
That's what three fellows had to do on 27 A." 



The foreman rolled his plug around, then looked 

Bill in the eye. 
" You're all right. Bill," he says to him, '' I likes a 

man what's spry. 

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Klondyke Ballads 

This 33's a dead sure thing, gumboot me if I lie ; 
There's fifty thousand in that dump — just take a pan 

and try." 
Bill took a pan and found a chunk. He dropped it 

with a sigh. 

When Bill McGee began to work they set him haul- 
ing wood, 

But every man upon the claim hauled more than 
Billy could ; 

He slipped and stumbled on the snow, and when at 
last he stood 

He almost froze himself to death, and, though that 
isn't good, 

The foreman swore at Bill McGee and only hoped 
he would. 

So Bill was set to sawing logs, and he sawed a log or 

two. 
But the third one always stumped him, for he 

couldn't saw it through ; 
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Klondyke Ballads 

The cold attacked his fingers and his lips looked 

pretty blue, 
And the foreman got excited and told him who was 

who, 
And asked him what he lived for, and, pray, what 

could he do ? 

Then Bill next tried the windlass, but he didn't try 

it long ; 
For though his arms looked powerful and though his 

back looked strong 
He couldn't hoist the bucket, and the foreman sang 

a song 
(Though the words weren't very proper) and asked 

him what was wrong. 
And drove him from the windlass and wished him in 

Hong-Kong. 

But the foreman was a Christian, although he had to 

kick; 
So he sent Bill down the ladder with instructions 

how to pick j 

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Klondyke Ballads 

But a rung gave way beneath him and he landed like 

a brick, 
And they put him in the bucket and hauled him up 

darned quick, 
But Billy's neck was broken and he was looking sick. 

They laid him in an outhouse where the dead man 

quickly froze ; 
And the friendly foreman muttered as he sadly blew 

his nose : 

*' This life is d uncertain and pretty full of woes, 

And the men who die the quickest is generally those 
Built powerful, like Bill here, whose days is at a 

close. ' ' 

<'I Hked him good and plenty," one burly miner 

said. 
As he drummed his fingers lightly on the dead man's 

icy head. 

'' He never ate no butter on his flapjacks or his bread, 

And never used no sugar — I took his share instead. 

But, boys, he never once ondressed before he went 

to bed!" 

75 



Klondyke Ballads 

The miners thought it funny and shook their heads 

thereat, 
Till he who praised the dead man removed his mitts 

and hat. 
^* We'll take 'em off him this time," he said, and 

then he spat. 
'■'■ We haven't got the linen for to wind around a cat, 
But we'll sew him up in sacking and let it go at that. ' ' 

And so they took Bill's clothes off, and none of them 

could speak 
At first from sheer amazement at what they called 

his '' cheek." 
The foreman broke the silence: ^'Thnt Bill, there, 

was a freak, 
And if he still was living I'd label him a sneak. 
I always had to wonder why the fellow was so weak. ' ' 

From off the corpse before them they took two 

mackinaws. 
Three shirts and heavy undervests and four thick 

pair of drawers ; 

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Klo7idyke Ballads 

Three pair of canvas overalls and socks it seems by 

scores ; 
And when they got to bedrock they almost broke in 

roars 
Of laughter at the foreman, who thought they had 

good cause. 

For Bill was over sixty and was made of bone and 

skin, 
And the miners when they eyed him had to turn 

aside and grin. 
His arms were like two matches ; each leg was like a 

pin — 
You could almost look right through him he was so 

very thin. 
And for such a man to labor it really seemed a sin. 

But they covered him with sacking sewed as neat as 

neat could be, 
And they fixed him up for shipment to his friends 

across the sea. 

n 
Life. 



KlondyJze Ballads 

And the foreman muttered softly : ''If there's a fool 

it's me, 
For I was made a fool of by that there Bill McGee ; 
But now he's dead forever — so I've the laugh on 

he." 



78 



OQt a 



SEP 13 1901 



"iiiiiili 

018 393 927 \^ 




m^. 



